


Ouch, Potty Mouth

by nextdoorneighbor



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Fluff, Implied/Referenced Underage Drinking, M/M, Pining, happening in 90s summer setting but can be read as whatever really there aren't a lot of references, it's just some nostalgic bullshit you're welcome I though the pairing fits, just a trifle of angst, spoilers Jisung is the potty mouth, there's nothing to tag once again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2018-04-07
Packaged: 2019-04-19 19:05:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14243793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nextdoorneighbor/pseuds/nextdoorneighbor
Summary: Jisung ultimately does regret drinking as much as he did, but honestly, it could have been a lot worse.





	Ouch, Potty Mouth

**Author's Note:**

> A rare pair once again, yay! I hope you few who read it will like it!

”Don’t freak out.”

Jisung’s head has never been screaming murder this loud. Absolutely never. Oh, his eyes as well. A groan. He feels disgusted – no, disgusting, and for the love of all things holy, he cannot bring himself to realize just why he's feeling this awful. 

“What the hell…” he stammers out slowly, noticing that, oh, his throat is also cursing at him. There’s barely any light to where he is, mattress under him uncomfortably hard, his head spinning like there’s no tomorrow. 

“Rise and shine,” calls out a cotton soft, soothing voice; Jisung ultimately recognizes it, but can’t put two and two together right now, who it might be, is not, cannot, indeed be, wait a second…

“Na – fuCKIN’ WHAT – JAEMIN!” 

During which he puts a name to the voice he had just heard, springs up from the realization, his forehead hitting the wooden blanks of the upper bunk bed full force, and falls back down, the pillow making an ‘umph’ sound when getting punched out of air by the back of Jisung’s head. Jaemin is laying on the bed, too, looking like _the fucking model he is,_ looking down at Jisung, head in his palm. 

“Ouch, potty mouth, dropping the F-bomb,” Jaemin retorts quietly, almost just to himself, scrunching his face when Jisung’s hands fly up to his forehead. “You okay?”

“No,” Jisung croaks out almost immediately, feeling a deep blush creep up his neck unavoidably. He wishes Jaemin can’t see in the dim lighting. 

“You really did drink a lot, didn’t you,” Jaemin hums, keeping his voice low. It hits Jisung hard that he is in an unknown bedroom (Jaemin’s, most likely), hungover, with Jaemin of all people. What in the world. “You remember anything? About the party?”

“A party,” Jisung echoes hollowly. There was a party?

“Shit, dude,” there is, and then he is laughing, or just this little strum of low hiccups he excuses as a laugh. Jisung wants the earth to swallow him whole. “At Siyeon’s crib? I knew you were drunk, but this drunk?” 

“I wasn’t supposed to drink,” he states unhelpfully. He has a math test on Monday. “Did I do anything stupid?” The clock on the wall is extremely loud, just ticking over the next full hour; six in the morning. A fan is spinning on the edge of the school table, it’s wings hitting the grating that has a bunch of colorful paper strips attached to it in one annoying angle. “Stupid as in, like, things that can’t be blamed on alcohol.”

“Mm,” Jaemin lets out to appear as he is thinking, his eyes _(finally)_ flitting to somewhere else from Jisung’s face.

It’s stupid. He is in Jaemin’s room, with Jaemin, so he has probably spent the last night with the other boy, at least a fraction of it, and he can’t remember any of it. Fucking funny and absolutely terrifying at the same time. 

“Nothing unforgivable,” Jaemin decides to land on, face widening with that sun defeating smile of his. It’s mischievous and full of knowing of something Jisung doesn’t, and if he weren’t so beaten up himself, he would beat the truth out of Jaemin right there and then. “You talked lots, said things” he provides when he has gotten enough of Jisung’s suffering face. 

‘Talked lots’ does not sound good at all. There’s a bunch of things that Jisung could have said and necessarily shouldn’t have. He scowls in distaste of how amused Jaemin looks. 

“Like what things?” 

“Oh, you know. Stuff,” Jaemin drags, bony fingers fiddling with a tuft of Jisung’s bleached hair splayed out on the pillow. There’s a Nirvana shirt hanging over the open closet door; Jaemin is one of _those_ kids. “Like that cows are scary,” he says, grins, and Jisung pouts, knows that the flush on his face is permanent. 

“And?” There is something else to this. 

“That you once ran from a cow in a sunset.”

“And?” There must be something else. He lowers his voice.

“And that clouds are pretty at a sunset,” Jaemin continues. Jisung knows where this is going. 

“And?” It is a whisper. He knows what is next but he needs to make sure. 

“And that we should watch clouds at sunset together some time.” 

Jisung absolutely hates how Jaemin says it. With a little bit of humor to it. Jisung has ran those words far too many times over in his head, has had million different scenarios in which he has asked Jaemin that, and now he had went and blurted them out while drunk? Standing fucking ovation to him. 

“And you know what you said after that?” Jisung moves his gaze away, notices that he can see a lot better, the sun is rising. A dog is barking outside. _”Though you are a lot prettier that the clouds at sunset.”_ Jaemin chuckles some more, and every second that ticks by breaks Jisung’s heart a little more. 

“Shut up.”

 _”Jaemin, I kinda like you.”_ And then he is fucking cooing at him and Jisung turns away, ignores the protest his body shouts. 

“I didn’t say that,” he claims, mumbling into the pillow, pulling his knees to his chest for comfort. “You heard wrong.”

“Pretty sure I didn’t,” Jaemin singsongs, takes Jisung’s shoulder to rock him back and forth a few times. The bedding smells like Jaemin and his warm hand burns through Jisung’s t-shirt sleeve. “I mean, that’s pretty gay, dude.” He feels the other flop onto the mattress behind his back, hears him let out a breath. The bed creaks. “Just, y’know, it’s fine. I’m cool with that.” 

Jisung huffs a laugh, regrets it when the headache roars. He knows that he just lost Jaemin, knows that even if the other would never feel the same regardless of him bringing his feelings out or not, now that he knows about it, there’s no use to even fantasize anymore. Jisung feels vulnerable and there isn’t a feeling he hates more. 

“How’s your headache coming?” 

“Not great.”

Why is Jaemin so nice? Why did he even bother taking Jisung to his own house? Why does he even ask?

“I’ll get you some water, jack a painkiller from dad’s locker,” Jaemin says, flips to sit up. Jisung mumbles an ‘it’s fine’, though, but doesn’t look back to see Jaemin frown. 

“I need to get home before my parents realize that I’m gone,” he continues but makes no move to get up. He feels defeated. 

Somehow though, Jaemin drags him up, not letting go of his hand once he’s on his feet. Jisung can’t take his mind off the fact how Jaemin holds it, so casually, not all the way interlocked but crossed loosely anyway. It’s stupid. He has never held his hand nor touched otherwise – unless they did last nigh, which is highly likely if Jisung couldn’t stay up on his own two feet. 

“Jae–”

“Shh,” Jaemin hushes, suddenly so close in the hallway, bright eyes staring into his. Oh, and his index against Jisung’s lips, what do you know. “We’re both dead if you wake Becky up.” Right, the dog. If something barks, it sure is that thing. 

Going back to sneaking through the house, Jisung might get a few flashbacks of what happened, just a few quick images, that’s all. Stumbling in the kitchen and giggling at the front door. Fuck if Jisung’s even going to get over how perfect Jaemin is. 

“Come on, it’s not weird! I really don’t believe you’ll stay on there if you don’t hold onto me,” Jaemin’s assuring him, them both already on the bike, Jisung on the rack over the second wheel. His face just keeps burning up at how Jaemin is trying to get him to wrap his arms around his waist, can’t hold in his giggles. The alcohol is still gripping strong on him. 

The summer breeze feels nice, yeah, but he never could have really known what it feels like being pressed against Jaemin’s back before actually experiencing it. He feels Jaemin’s thighs softly brushing at his forearms every time he pedals away, can feel the warmth of his skin seeping through his shirt against his cheek. The bruised asphalt under them runs quicker than Jisung’s eyes are able to make it out, and the sun is rising. 

“The sunrise is pretty, too,” Jaemin quips, turning his head just a tad so Jisung can hear his words. He lifts his legs up a little more when the soles of his sneakers get in contact with the racing ground. 

“Sunset is prettier,” Jisung responds, tightens his grip on Jaemin’s shirt. “The clouds get so many colors.” 

Jaemin doesn’t answer but Jisung knows that he is smiling. For a second, the heartbreak isn’t there. For a second, Jisung can picture them just like this, together. 

When at his house, Jisung lets go reluctantly, stumbles off the bike, and when their eyes meet again, he dumps himself back into reality where Jaemin is just a distant boy he has feelings for and he happened to stumble in while wasted, and who was nice enough to make sure he got home okay. Jaemin barely even knows Jisung. And Jaemin doesn’t like boys. Jisung should let it go now. 

Jaemin drops his eyes but never his smile, turns the bike to be ready to ride back home. 

Jisung thanks him and turns, too, taking a few steps to his house. 

“Hey, potty mouth!”

He snaps back like burned, is met with the smiling Jaemin, the sun rising behind him. 

“Let’s watch the sunset together some time, yeah?”

Maybe he has underestimated sunrises.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment!


End file.
